All Of Me
by LithiumKiss
Summary: Yes it was becoming harder and harder to look at him, but that didn't mean Yong Soo would stop, even if he was terrified of what he saw. An angsty Russia/South Korea oneshot. Yaoi; for The Nightstress


**A/N: This is a gift fic for The Nightstress, who happened to be the 93rd reviewer for _Take This Silver Lining_ and requested a Russia/South Korea oneshot. At first I was flailing about going "oh golly gosh I'm never going to be able to write Russia/South Korea – that's just insane!" but then after some research I found that they had more in common politically and historically than I first thought. But somehow, even though I researched, this oneshot has nothing to do with any of it. Ah, only you LK...**

**So anyway, here are a few warnings for particularly monstrous oneshot:**

**-Very loosely based on the late 1930's and the Siege of Leningrad through til the Cold War era, mostly taking place in a setting similar to the USSR. The only real relations to it are the place names and the mood. Well, let's hope the mood is there anyway. Also, Stalin was quite (excuse the under exaggeration) xenophobic. That should be enough of a clue as to why this has its historical inaccuracies as well. **

**-1905-esque!Russia. Yes, that means angst – don't be so surprised. **

**-Infatuated teenage!South Korea (read: OOC South Korea). Aside from that, there is a reason for this, ladies and gents. South Korea's history isn't a happy one at all. China and Japan pretty much hated his guts and somehow I don't think that during the Great Depression or WWII or Cold War/Korean War/Vietnam War Era he would have been running around all "I invented war, da ze~!" so therefore, I haven't written him like that.**

**-On that note with the characters, I've only written their little speech inflections ("aru" and "da ze") when they speak their own language. I imagine that by adding these, Himayura is sending up the way the Chinese and Koreans speak. **

**-Sappiness. Oh god, so much sappiness. **

**-More-than-just- implied smut. Some may be adventurous enough to call it 'explicit'. So if that isn't your thing, please feel free to skip it. Fortunately for all of you who would like to skip the lemon, I can tell you the exact coordinates of its location. This fic is divided into eight segments (that is, there's eight line breaks throughout) and the lemon takes place in the sixth segment – basically, you'll have to take a fair hike to get to it. If you can make it to that point I'll give you an internet. **

**-War and death themes.**

**-And again... aaaaaaangst.**

**I apologise in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors that I know must be lurking around in there somewhere...  
**

**But aside from that bundle of laughter and rainbows and smiles and joy, on with the fic. And TN, I hope this satisfies your Russia/South Korea needs~**

**...**

**I do not own Hetalia or Angus and Julia Stone's **_**All Of Me**_

**...

* * *

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_Is there a remedy for waiting  
for love's victorious return?  
Is there a remedy for hating  
every second that I'm without you?

* * *

_

**All Of Me**

Yong Soo knew he wasn't the perfect little brother. He purposefully said hurtful things, he was deliberately difficult and hard to get along with, and he took every opportunity to embarrass his dearest 'Yao-Yao hyung-nim.' But guiltlessness set him free and he hadn't an uneasy conscience to grapple with. He had his reasons for his actions, all of them completely valid in his eyes.

Yao had been eighteen when he first came into Yong Soo's life. Kiku had been fifteen. The Korean had lost his mother and step-father when a bomb had fallen on their city. Yong Soo was only seven at the time when Yao took him back to his home country, and it had been then that Yong Soo looked up to him as his hero – he had saved him.

But that's where the fantasy ended. Yao made them leave China so they could resettle in Russia with the promise that Russia would be a good new home, and that they would be safe. Yong Soo had so badly wanted to escape from the pain of missing his parents, so he put all his trust into his brother's promises without questioning it. Yao was twenty-five, Kiku was nineteen. Being so much older, they both knew better: Russia was not a place they could call home and their safety was not guaranteed.

The three of them managed to find work at an industrial plant in Kirov, Leningrad. Yong Soo was in charge of silverware. He had to stand in line and put the spoons, forks and knives into boxes. It was mentally and physically draining work (even though in comparison to others his job was quite easy – all he really had to do was stand and sort) and all Yong Soo could think was, is it going to get better? That same thought ran in and out of his mind for two whole months and by then, all of his hope had faded. It wasn't going to get better – Yao had lied to him.

And to make matters worse, since their move Yao made him feel small, insignificant and worthless most of the time, no matter how hard he tried to prove his worth to gain his brother's love and affection. Kiku, who had played with him from time to time, followed in his older brother's footsteps and pushed Yong Soo away. So, as time passed he distanced himself by being hostile and a disgrace. He stopped seeking out Yao and Kiku's approval and he couldn't care less. It was easier to make his older brothers despise him more than they already did than try to gain something he was never going to get in the first place.

But it didn't feel like enough. No matter what he did, his brothers never understood his feelings, which was ultimately what Young Soo wanted. He wanted to make them feel as small, as insignificant and as worthless as he had been made to feel. No matter what he did, he could never find a way to really hurt his older brothers. All he'd managed to do was cause a few rifts in their friendships, but they never came crashing down. And Yong Soo was sick of it. He was sick of living in their great pretentious shadows, and he was sick of being unable to do anything to bring him down.

What he really wanted to do was to get revenge on them and make it as icy as possible. But he was hard pressed for what he could do exactly. Embarrassing and insulting them wasn't nearly enough, as he'd learnt many times before. How was he supposed to make Yao and Kiku fall into an irreparable heap?

One afternoon a week later, the answer came to him in the form of a man, a soldier, named Ivan Braginski. Their first meeting was when a group of soldiers entered the factory, for inspection one of them had said.

Inspection or not, Yong Soo couldn't seem to make his hands work. One of the soldiers was looking in his direction and in that moment he felt the subtle burn of his hope rekindling. Inspection or not, Yong Soo couldn't breathe. He had a look on his face that the Korean had never seen before. Inspection or not, Yong Soo couldn't stop his heart from swelling, from pounding so forcefully inside his chest. The soldier had started to make his way towards him and suddenly Yong Soo had to look down. Somehow, he made his hands work again. He accidentally bumped arms with the person beside him and looked up, prepared to mumble a quick apology and to get back to it, when he realised that it was Yao who had been standing beside him. His older brother was looking up and in the direction of...

_Oh. _

Yong Soo let out a sigh, a breath of disappointment. Of course. In the soldier's eyes – in his breathtakingly violet eyes – Yong Soo was probably just a child. Of course he'd be drawn to Yao Wang instead.

"A fun job – sorting the cutlery." The way the soldier spoke shocked the Korean slightly. He had expected his voice to be deep with more than just a hint of authority to it, but he spoke in cheerful tone, his voice higher and slightly childish. It was actually very endearing. And the way he spoke Russian wasn't just the same as other people, either – it made Yong Soo feel warm all over.

"Oh, yes, indeed," Yao said, matching his jovial tone. "The best job in the factory."

Yong Soo wanted to walk away and seethe quietly in peace, but he was in the presence of a soldier and he was in the middle of working. Yao was supposed to be in the middle of working, too.

"I do not wish to pry into business that isn't mine, but where is it that you're from? What is your name?"

The way Yao held the spoon to his chest made Yong Soo want to wrench it from his grasp and bat him over the head with it. Or better still, wrench it from his grasp, throw it across the factory floor and make him chase it so he wouldn't be looking at the soldier like that anymore.

"My name is Yao Wang and I'm from China. My brothers and I had to come to Russia because our home had been raided and destroyed. We were all by ourselves and even now we are still alone."

"That is a shame – but you shouldn't feel alone here. In Russia, we are one big family. Comrade Moskovsky loves and takes care of us all."

And suddenly, there was a silver lining. "I stay at the Pavlov Barracks but I have a home on the corner of Grechesky Prospekt. I don't stay there so much anymore but if you wanted to stay there for a while, I will take you there after your shift is over." It didn't matter that the soldier wasn't asking Yong Soo directly, but Yao wouldn't leave his brothers behind, so this was his chance to get to know the soldier, to get close to him.

"No, no. We couldn't possibly do that." Yong Soo rolled his eyes. As if he didn't want to.

"Please," he put his hands up, waving them slightly. "I would like to help you. You have been through so much already. What sort of person would I be if I didn't help out a fellow comrade in his time of need?"

"You are too kind," Yao said softly with an equally gentle smile to match. Yong Soo didn't know how much more he could take. "We finish our shift in half an hour, if you don't mind waiting."

"Not at all." They shared a look and Yong Soo felt like screaming. Perhaps he should have to scare the soldier away from his brother, but it wasn't worth the risk of never seeing him again.

"I don't mean to be so forward or impolite, but you never told me your name?" Yao asked coyly.

"Ivan," the soldier replied without the coy tone. "Ivan Braginski."

* * *

The second time Yong Soo saw Ivan was two weeks later in his (and, unfortunately, his brother's) new home on the corner of Grechesky Prospekt.

It was a quiet, slightly cool Sunday and Yong Soo had slept in well past noon and was making his way to the bath to relax the rest of the day away when a brief flash of colour in his peripherals caught his attention. He noticed there was somebody in the guestroom (Yong Soo was never allowed in there just in case he broke something) and, curiosity thoroughly roused, peeked through the small crack in the door to see just who the somebody was.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror was a man who was definitely in no way a stranger to Yong Soo. The man was inspecting his uniform and all of the things he'd felt at the factory that day came back again in full force. The breathlessness, his throbbing heart. And it felt so much better. Ivan Braginski _looked_ so much better in the soft afternoon light, too.

The Russian was tall (very tall – extremely tall, actually), his skin was pale (Yong Soo imagined that if he touched his cheek, his skin would be cool to the touch, just like the Autumn winds howling the promises of another harsh Russian Winter), his grey-blond hair was short and silky (the way the sun caught the strands made it look so soft and _touchable_) and his violet-coloured eyes were striking, piercing and all-seeing.

Suddenly he heard the sound of somebody approaching the hallway and he had to straighten up and look away. Somehow, he managed to get his breath back, only to have it stolen again when the back of his robe was grabbed and he was hauled back forcefully.

"Yong Soo! I knew you'd be up to no good, aru," Yao muttered as he dragged the Korean down the hall and into the tea room. "Listen to me," he hissed once he threw Yong Soo onto the floor unceremoniously. "You don't just spy on people. He could have been getting changed or something else private!"

The thought of that gorgeous-man-soldier shirtless and _pantless_ made Yong Soo a little warm under the robe. "Well, what's he doing in there anyway?"

"Today's important for me, Yong Soo," Yao said firmly. He noticed there was a hint of pleading in his voice. He fought the urge to smirk. "Ivan and his comrade have come here for tea and I don't want you to embarrass me."

Yong Soo rolled his eyes and got to his feet, busying himself with brushing himself off. "Fine. I'll be the perfect little brother."

"I mean it, aru. This isn't something you can treat as one of your usual games. Ivan is...important to me, to our family. We have to show him that we are worth taking care of."

Those three words, those three very fragile words, tore away at the seams of Yong Soo's heart. _Important to me_. Did Ivan feel the same way?

"I was just going out to take a bath," Yong Soo said quietly, wondering whether he concealed the hurt well enough. "I wasn't looking for trouble or anything, da ze." Yao's face relaxed just that little bit, and it looked like the was about to say something else before Yong Soo decided to cut him off and put him on edge again. "Anyway, he must be a simpleton for wanting to associate himself with you." He didn't mean it – the snowy-haired man seemed to be intelligent, and Yong Soo found himself wanting him all to himself. Not that Yao would allow him to do so.

Yong Soo tensed slightly when he saw Yao take a fast step forward and only realised he'd been slapped when he felt the sting on his cheek. "_Don't_." He raised his hand and touched the skin, feeling it tingle underneath his cool fingers.

"_I won't_." Yong Soo ground out before giving his brother one last glowering look and leaving.

The hot water and steam teasing his cold, bare skin did nothing to alleviate his anxiety. Ivan was in their house (and another one, apparently) and Yao claimed that he was important to him, to them. He might as well have told Yong Soo that Ivan belonged to him and to stay the hell away. Typical Yao. Typical, selfish, _stupid_ Yao. Yong Soo was not going to stay away – he had every right to have Ivan notice him as Yao did.

Once he dried off and got dressed, he made his way inside and into the tea room where both Kiku and Yao sat opposite two men – Ivan and a blond haired man who had sharp emerald green eyes and the most ridiculous eyebrows Yong Soo had ever seen.

"Yong Soo," Yao half-greeted, half-hissed. His dark eyes flashed and had the Korean been seven years old again, he may have been scared. He may have even fled to go and hide in his room. But he was not seven. He was _sixteen_, and he would not be going anywhere. So, he bowed to both their guests and sat at the end of the table quietly. Yao glowered at him dangerously before turning to Ivan with a pleasant (_pleasantly forced_) smile on his face. "This is my youngest brother, Im Yong Soo. He doesn't usually leave his room – he's... how do you put it? 'Not all there' mentally."

He supposed this was Yao's payback for all those times Yong Soo had held him back, for all those times he had to miss out on something because Yong Soo was too young to be at home by himself. For all those times Yong Soo had disgraced him.

The green eyed man who had, if the Korean remembered correctly, introduced himself as Arthur Kirkland, chuckled slightly, if a little awkwardly. Perhaps he thought he was being polite. Kiku simply sat there with his usually impassive expression in place and sipped his tea.

Yong Soo's gaze flickered to Ivan, who was watching him from the corner of his eye. He was watching him with what could have been sympathy, could have been judgement; all he really knew was that he wanted to smirk and crow triumphantly – Yao didn't impress him in the slightest with his cruel humour – but he remained silent and directed his gaze to the dark wood tabletop instead.

For the next half hour, Yong Soo listened as his older brother prattled on and as Ivan absorbed his words, like he was truly intrigued by the Chinese man. Yao probably forced himself onto the Russian or something. This thought gave him a little comfort, but the way he watched him as he spoke made the Korean's heart sink just a little. He didn't even once look over at Yong Soo.

It wasn't fair. He was only sixteen, yes, but that didn't mean he didn't have the capacity to have feelings for somebody. Yao had had more than enough experiences of love in the past – couldn't he let Yong Soo have this one? He knew that he knew nothing about Ivan, and that was dangerous territory to be stepping into, but he just looked so lost, lonely, like he needed to have someone there to guide him and to care for him. Yong Soo could be that someone because he was lost and lonely. His older brothers were never really there to guide him and if they did care for him they had a weird way of showing it.

It had started to grow dark outside by the time Ivan said that he would have to be going. Yao asked whilst Yong Soo thought, did he really have to go, and disappointing them both Ivan said that he was sorry but yes, he had to. He had to get back to the barracks and sign in again so he could get some sleep before waking up to patrol the area at five the next morning. Yong Soo didn't bother walking their guests to the door (not that Yao's venomous glare swayed his decision in any way) and went straight to his room. Despite the tight, awkward and unfair situation he was dragged into, his heart felt full. So, so full. And he felt weightless, different, and like there was a tomorrow for him.

A tomorrow where he would see Ivan again. A tomorrow where Ivan would see him too and give him back his heart so Yong Soo could live again for a short time before gladly handing it back until the next tomorrow came around.

* * *

The next time Yong Soo saw his soldier was ten days later on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon on his way home from work.

To avoid being at home for as long as possible, he took a short detour to the markets. There was nothing particularly interesting to look at or to buy and it was humid and unpleasant outside, but when he spotted Ivan standing outside a flower stall it wouldn't have mattered what the weather was like. All Yong Soo could see was him.

With a dry mouth and the sound of his heartbeat pounding heavily inside his head, he made his way towards the Russian. He was staring at the sunflowers, seemingly captivated by the vibrant and welcoming yellow. Yong Soo noticed one of his large fingers was lightly touching the warmly-coloured petals as if the flower itself was one of the most delicate, precious treasures on earth.

"Do you like sunflowers?"

"They remind me of my home at a happier time," the violet eyed man answered softly after a laboured pause. He looked up and his face seemed to soften in realisation. "You're Yao's little brother. Im Yong Soo."

The Korean nodded but he didn't know what to say to him next. He felt as though he couldn't make awkward small talk with him – he wanted to get to know him. And he felt as though he already knew a secret part of him when he'd said those six little words. _They remind me of my home._ They were quietly longing and sorrowful. Yong Soo wanted to say that he knew how he felt because he missed his parents so much every single day, but it seemed inappropriate. But he had to say _something_. He wouldn't allow himself to let them part ways like this, not when he had Ivan all to himself.

"The flowers at my home weren't as nice, I don't think, da ze." The Rose of Sharon was pretty but they never really blossomed around his parent's house.

"You're not from the same place as Yao. You just spoke another language." Ivan returned his gaze to the plastic yellow petals.

"Ah, sorry. It's a habit of mine." The thought of Yao speaking to Ivan in his native tongue made his chest hurt, like his heart was on the verge of splintering in two. "I've been speaking Mandarin and Russian for twelve years but I'm Korean so I like to speak my own language so I don't forget it."

"Your Russian is very good."

"Well they say that people who are mad are the most talented. Or how did Yao-Yao hyung-nim put it? Not all there mentally." Yong Soo laughed, slipping back into Korean and somehow wanting to cry instead. "I could probably learn to speak a thousand languages perfectly if I tried, da ze."

"What Yao said was unkind," Ivan said, turning to Yong Soo. Since when did they get _this_ close? And how did he know what he was saying? "I feel like I should have said something but-"

"No, no. He's my older brother, he has the right to say those things if he wants to. And he likes you, he does, and I suspect he was just trying to impress you or something." Yong Soo wanted to slap a hand over his mouth. He wanted to convince Ivan that he should love him, not to encourage his feelings for his brother.

The Russian frowned and Yong Soo was about to tell him to forget it when the stall's owner bustled out and told them they had to be moving on. She was an old lady, at least half the size of Yong Soo, but she was fierce. She reminded him of Yao's mother. "I have to pack up for today. Come back tomorrow."

Ivan cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders back, silently pointing out his status in comparison to hers. She grumbled to herself, something about the weather souring, but bustled away again.

"It's alright. I have to go anyway."

"I will walk you home. Come, I know a short cut to Grechesky Prospekt."

* * *

Without meaning to, Yong Soo told Ivan about everything. His parents, his brothers, everything. He was embarrassed that he couldn't be quiet for more than a minute at a time, but Ivan didn't seem to mind. He briefly mentioned that he had two sisters, one of which had left the country to find a warmer place – the Russian winters were making her illness worse, cruelly dragging life further and further away from her.

What Yong Soo really wanted to tell Ivan was that he wanted him to take him away, somewhere far away, just like his sister had done, where they could be together because he was the best thing that had happened to him ever. He didn't need anybody else – to hell with his so-called brothers. Ivan made him feel the whole spectrum of human emotion all at once and he didn't even know why. He didn't even know him, not really; but at the same time, he knew everything.

Why did they have to return at all? Yong Soo may have suggested walking to the Pavlov barracks had it not started raining.

Needless to say, Yao was thrilled when Yong Soo came home with Ivan beside him. He convinced him to stay for just a little while, just until the rain passed. The Korean said he was tired from a day at work would leave them to talk. He didn't want to see them together – he wanted to savour the hour they had alone that day, fool himself into believing, if just for a little longer, that there was no Yao standing between them.

He woke up to the sound of the rain pounding on the roof. He wondered whether Ivan had left. Half of him hoped that he was still there so he could tell him thank you. Half of him hoped that he'd already left so that he wouldn't have to face him with Yao present. He didn't know how much longer he could pretend that he was just the little brother and Ivan was just the soldier, just Yao's friend.

His growling stomach urged him to leave the comforting warmth of his bed and find something to eat. He really didn't feel like eating; it was an empty comfort, one that would only keep him satisfied for a few hours, but at least it would take his mind off things just for a little while.

The guest bedroom was on the way to the kitchen. The door was opened slightly and Yong Soo remembered when he'd seen Ivan standing in front of the mirror, the first day he got to see him properly. There was a weak stream of light pouring from the room into the hallway and he revelled in the cheap thrill that the prospect of seeing him again gave him. His cheeks flushed slightly as he came closer to the room, thankful the rain was loud enough to mask his footsteps. For the second time, he peeked through the small crack in the door to see...to see...

He knew what he was supposed to be seeing. His brain was telling him that seeing was believing but his heart was telling him otherwise. Ivan was supposed to be standing there in front of the mirror, inspecting his uniform just like before. But no. Ivan wasn't standing in front of the mirror, inspecting his uniform. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of the guest bed with his legs spread, with Yao kneeling on the floor settled comfortably between them. Those fingers he'd seen touching the sunflower petals with such tenderness were tangled in Yao's raven tresses, pushing him forward.

Yong Soo numbly turned away from the scene, not strong enough to bring himself to look up at Ivan's face. No, he was much too afraid of what he might see in those eyes that he loved so much. It was as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and thrown upon the floor, and all he could do was watch as it lay in a thousand pieces, trying, fighting to find a rhythm to keep him alive.

What had he expected? All he could think about was that day at the factory, how he'd looked at Yao. He was a soldier and he had to relieve his stress somehow. He was a soldier and he was a grown man and so was Yao. Yong Soo was just a teenager, a child, but he wouldn't have minded. He could have handled everything, he could have _tried_, and he would have, especially for Ivan.

Yong Soo made himself a cup of weak tea and took it back to his room. He sat on his bed and stared at the blank wall. He couldn't bring himself to drink the hot tea; his insides were already burning. He set the cup down on the window sill and let it go cold.

The rain kept pouring down.

* * *

For a year, all he did was work. All he could do was work. Ivan came in to visit Yao from time to time, and once he'd even asked Yong Soo how he was. The Korean wanted to throw the box of knives he was carrying and scream, but instead he said he was fine. He told himself he didn't care to know how Ivan was.

After his lunch break on Friday, the floor manager approached Yong Soo and told him to go home and take the next month off. Apparently he'd been working too hard with unnecessary overtime shifts and on holidays, too. Yong Soo pleaded with him and told him that it was fine – he had nothing else to do. The manager told him that if he saw his face on Monday, he would most certainly lose his job. He didn't particularly want to go home – both Kiku and Yao had taken the day off – but what else could he do? He wanted to keep his job, and the sooner he left, the sooner he could come back.

For a change, Yong Soo took the tram to Grechesky Prospekt. When he arrived back home, he was greeted by raised voices. Kiku was nowhere to be found. The Korean realised that the voices were coming from the guestroom and as much as he wanted to ignore them and go elsewhere, he also wanted to know what they were arguing about. So, suppressing the distant call of his inner voice telling him that the last time he went to that room his world had been shattered, he took a slow breath and let it out again at the same pace, taking small, measured steps towards the door. Yong Soo watched through the small crack in the door as Ivan dropped to his knees, cradling his head in his hands.

"I've never had somebody love me before," he said lowly, sending a shiver down Yong Soo's spine. He swallowed thickly, angry and sympathetic for the Russian. Everything that he'd tried to forget over the past year came flooding back, and all of a sudden he found himself caring so much more than he had a year ago. His throat felt tight and his eyes were stinging. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so much. "Not like you do, Yao-Yao. Not like you do."

"Please get up so we can talk about this properly," Yao said, opening his pleading hands to Ivan. He looked slightly embarrassed and fed up, ready to walk out at any moment. In that moment Yong Soo hated him more than he ever had in his whole life. "Do you wonder why, Ivan? You don't know the meaning of giving somebody time. God, you could die tomorrow and what then?"

Yong Soo knew he would take Ivan even if he was to die tomorrow. It was no news that Germany had declared war on Russia, but the German troops were only still in Poland. That's what Yao had said. Did that mean that Ivan was getting sent to the front? Yong Soo couldn't bear the thought of never seeing him again.

"I don't know 'what then'," Ivan said solemnly, though his voice had an icy edge to it. "Do you want to leave me? If so, then go now."

"What other choice do I have? I don't want to be lonely and if I stay here, I know that eventually I will be; more than I am now."

"So go."

It was ultimately what Yong Soo had wanted from the beginning. He'd wanted his brother to feel lower than low, he'd wanted him to feel the heaviness of despair and pain, and as much as he hated him...he just couldn't stand to look at his broken expression.

Yao Wang had loved Ivan Braginski and Yong Soo was faced with a near impossible choice.

The weight of the decision to leave to find happiness showed so clearly in those dark eyes. This was a side to Yao that Yong Soo had never seen before, and although he had taken everything away from him, he wanted to burst through the door and convince them both to stop. Yao, aside from Kiku, was the only family he had and although they'd never had a happy relationship, he was the reason Yong Soo was still alive. He could have left him behind in Korea; he could have left him to fend for himself in China. He could have starved him, wrapped his hands around his throat and killed him, but he didn't. Yao deserved at least some happiness, because whether Yong Soo wanted to acknowledge it or not, Yao had suffered because of the raid and the death of his parents, too.

But if he wasn't happy with Ivan or in Russia, Yong Soo wasn't going to hold him back. He still wanted the Russian more than anything else.

"Fine," Yao sighed. "You can have your house back."

Yong Soo quickly moved to the side when he saw his brother leaving, clenching his hands into fists and backing against the wall, hoping he would remain unseen. But when Yao opened the door, he caught him out and the Korean was fully prepared to have Yao slap him but he didn't. He opened his eyes and let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding when he saw the oddest thing.

Yao was smiling at him. It was only small, barely there at all, but it was still a smile. And stranger still, he found himself being pulled into his arms for the first time since he was seven years old. "Be good," Yao said softly into his ear in Korean and before Yong Soo could reply or even return the embrace, Yao stepped back and walked away without another word.

_Be good_.

So he wasn't intending on taking Yong Soo with him. It didn't matter – he couldn't imagine leaving Russia, not now that he had a reason to stay.

The sound of the door opening for a second time startled him back into the present. He jumped slightly and put his hand over his chest when he noticed Ivan looking at him. "Ivan..." Yong Soo knew that his voice was supposed to be light and jovial, but it was heavy, burdened with what he knew he would have to face. "I wasn't spying I was just—"

"Do not worry," Ivan put his hands up, waving them slightly, a gesture he'd seen close to two years ago now. The Russian's eyes crinkled at the corners as though he was smiling, and Yong Soo realised that he looked so much older than twenty-three. "I don't mind it. Do you want something before I go?"

Yong Soo opened his mouth, a million and one things wanting to spill out all at once, but he choked. He looked desperately into those violet orbs, hoping and praying with everything that he had that Ivan knew how he felt.

Yong Soo belatedly realised just how hard it was to look at him, and it had been for some time. There were deep dark circles beneath his eyes that didn't go away. His uniform, which used to hug his form perfectly, looked more like loose skin on bone. His smile wasn't real; it stopped reaching his eyes months ago and whenever the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, his lips would tremble with the strain of pretending.

Yes it was becoming harder and harder to look at him, but that didn't mean Yong Soo would stop, even if he was terrified of what he saw. He put a hand over his mouth as a strangled gasp escaped him. He couldn't handle it if Ivan left him and never came back – he was all he had left. If he was killed...Yong Soo knew he would have no chance of surviving.

He bit his lip and slowly shook his head, ready to beg him not to leave, but he just couldn't. It was like his jaw had been broken and his tongue had been slashed. All he could do was close his eyes in defeat when Ivan gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked away. Why did he have to be so stupid and weak? Was it so hard to tell him, 'Forget about Yao because I care about you, please don't leave me, I don't want you to die'?

Obviously yes, it was hard. Too fucking hard.

* * *

Tiny white flakes of snow fell slowly past the window. It happened suddenly – the temperature dropped dramatically over the course of a few hours, the sun disappeared and the sky darkened into an ominous grey. Then the snow came, and Yong Soo couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so cold. He felt the atmosphere around him whispering passages from the book of death itself and he couldn't suppress the shiver that bolted from the base of his neck all the way down his spine, touching and spooking every disc.

Yao had been gone for a week and three days now. He came back to tell Yong Soo that he and Kiku were going to America with Arthur Kirkland and his friend Alfred Jones. They'd been promised a better life there (Yong Soo wondered whether that would really be the case this time around) and they could be happy for real. He asked whether Yong Soo wanted to come along but he couldn't accept – he couldn't leave without knowing that Ivan was alive. Yao asked him if he liked the Russian but Yong Soo couldn't give him an answer. Somehow, he knew his brother already knew the answer.

Ivan returned two hours before the snow started to fall and disappeared into the bathroom for another hour. Now, Yong Soo stood inside his doorway with a weak cup of tea, hands trembling slightly. He wanted to tell him that he'd missed him while he'd been away – how he'd managed to maintain his sanity over the almost-fortnight was a miracle.

"I didn't think you'd still be here," Ivan said, his voice gravelly. He slid down the wall and focused his gaze on his hands clasped tightly in his lap, as if he was too tired to do anything else.

"I couldn't leave," Yong Soo replied softly. With courage he didn't know he had, he placed the tea on the chest of drawers by the bed and went to the Russian, kneeling down before him. "Will you be going back to the front again?"

"Eventually, yes."

"Then I'll go with you."

He didn't know what came over him, but he knew he wasn't just saying it. He would follow Ivan anywhere if it meant that he would never have to be without him again, but the look in those eyes, now dull and winter-drawn, made him want to bite his tongue.

"What are you thinking? War isn't a game."

"I know," Yong Soo moved closer until he was straddling Ivan's thighs; he was too upset to be embarrassed. "I know it isn't a game but I've already lost my brothers and I won't lose you. Please, please don't deny me."

"Is life that unimportant to you?" Ivan held onto his arms just above the elbows and gripped tightly. "You wouldn't survive out on the battlefield on your own."

"But I wouldn't be alone; I would be there with you. _Please_..." Yong Soo took the Russian's face into his hands and kissed him. "I know I'm not Yao, but I'm here," he said against Ivan's lips, coaxing him to talk, to just please do _anything_ to let him know that it was alright to comfort him in his brother's place. "He hurt you and he left you, but I'm here." He suppressed a wince at the discomfort of having Ivan's fingers pressing harder into his arms as he unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, cupping Ivan's cheek with the other. "Allow me to soothe your pain," he said softly, managing to take hold of Ivan's hand to press it against his now exposed skin.

"Your heart is pounding like gunfire," Ivan murmured as he pressed his hand against the left side of Yong Soo's chest, the curve of his palm warm against his nipple. He let out a breathy sigh at the intimate touch and leant into it, excitement, nerves and anticipation and love heating his body all over.

"That's what you do to me."

Together they got to their feet and Yong Soo held onto Ivan's arm, needing to touch him, needing to remind himself that he was still real. The darkness gave him the confidence to undress both Ivan and himself, brushing his lips over each patch of pale skin exposed to him on his way down, pressing eager open mouthed kisses back up again until he reached the Russian's lips. His confidence diminished, though, when Ivan told him to lie down, and even more so when the larger man joined him on the bed and spread his legs so he could settle himself between them. His anxiousness escalated into almost full-blown fear when Ivan leant over him to bring their lips together again. He felt small and was painfully aware of his lack of experience when he felt Ivan's moist tongue on his lower lip. Unsure and suddenly self-conscious, he parted his lips slightly so their tongues could touch and before long their mouths moulded and moved together heatedly. As Yong Soo carded his fingers through Ivan's hair, as he pressed himself up against his warm solid body, everything else became insignificant, as if there was no such thing as war or the outside world, as if they were the only two beings in existence.

Ivan broke away from the kiss and leant across so he could reach the drawers beside the bed, effectively pushing Yong Soo's body down into the mattress, their bodies pressed closer together. The Korean moaned softly as he felt the barely-there friction of Ivan's cock rubbing against his whenever he shifted, even slightly, and he knew with each movement sending pleasure and aching need pulsing through his veins that he wouldn't be able to last much longer. He needed to be sated, and he needed to be as close as he possibly could to Ivan.

The sound of a drawer closing drew Yong Soo's attention to Ivan's hand. In it was a bottle and Yong Soo felt his anxiety build up once more when Ivan removed the lid and sat up slightly. The Russian took a hold of his wrist and told him to hold out his hand, on which he poured some of the contents of the bottle. Whatever it was, was slick and mild in temperature, and before Yong Soo could ask, Ivan explained that it was massage oil. "It will make this easier," he said. He then guided the Korean's hand down until it came into contact with his cock and Yong Soo felt his breath hitch at the feeling of the hard, heated flesh. Hesitantly he ran his slicked fingers from the base of his shaft and up to the head, earning a soft groan from Ivan. "Keep touching me." Yong Soo could only manage a weak nod in response – Ivan was big and the thought of having him inside was both exciting and rather daunting – how was he supposed to fit? He stroked Ivan more firmly and increased his pace, feeling his own cock ache in response to the mixture of Ivan's groans and murmurs accompanied by the slide of his oiled palm against the Russian's length. Yong Soo leant forward and rested his head against Ivan's shoulder.

"I love you," he whispered shakily in Korean against his skin, no trusting himself to say it so Ivan could understand it. He didn't want to unintentionally push him away, not when they were so close. A small yet icy shock jolted through him when he realised that whilst Ivan must have cared for him in some level, he wasn't doing this out of love, not like Yong Soo was. He swallowed thickly, willing himself to concentrate on what was happening right then and there, forget what the reasons were behind it.

"Lie down." Ivan gently pushed against his shoulder gently before coating his fingers liberally with the oil. Yong Soo turned his head to look out of the window at the falling snow. His body was so hot – how could it possibly be freezing cold outside? Ivan spread Yong Soo's thighs and kissed the soft flesh just beside his knee cap before angling a finger at his entrance. The Korean tensed as he felt Ivan press a slick finger inside of him, trying to adjust to the discomfort. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping that it would get better. "Does it hurt?"

"It's just...it's strange. I've never done this before," Yong Soo admitted quietly.

His finger started to thrust in and out slowly at first, the oil lessening the pain and friction. Yong Soo had to grip the sheets when Ivan added a second finger to the first to stretch him further. He grit his teeth, letting a groan escape. He felt those fingers scissor and curl inside of him and he wanted to tell Ivan that he couldn't take it, when a third finger entered him along with the other two, shocking him into incoherency – all he could manage was another groan. As those slicked fingers thrust and worked inside of him, he closed his eyes tightly and tried to will the pain away when a hit of sensation spiked through his body, forcing a cry from his lips and him to arch off the bed.

"I-Ivan!" Yong Soo all but cried out, starting to grind his hips downwards, wanting Ivan to hit that spot again. The pain was laced with the distant call of pleasure that made him want more still. He sighed when Ivan removed his fingers, both from relief and the loss of being filled.

"Wrap your legs around me," Ivan commanded with a tinge of lust and, despite their position, a touch of shyness. Yong Soo complied, his arms following suit by gripping onto his shoulders. Ivan positioned himself at his entrance and started to push inside, earning a strangled gasp from Yong Soo. A strong, white hot rush of pain shot up his spine, coming back down an uncomfortable lava-like melt. Ivan lowered himself further onto Yong Soo, pushing more of his length inside of him until he was fully sheathed inside. Yong Soo looked up into his eyes and their lips found each other once again, their kiss becoming careless and distracted as Ivan started to roll his hips, starting to build a steady rhythm.

Needing an anchor, Yong Soo wrapped his arms around Ivan as the Russian brought one hand up to rest on the back of his head, the other on the small of his back to bring their bodies closer. He panted against Ivan's shoulder as the other's hot breath caressed his ear and neck. That distant, addictive call of pleasure crept back upon him and he opened his mouth and begged. More, more; give me more until I can't breathe, until I can't feel anything at all. Ivan thrust harder and faster and there was that delicious burn from before, only it was more intense and it had every fibre of his being screaming for relief, for release. He reached down between their bodies and it only took a few hard strokes before he came and it was like fireworks exploding behind his eyelids whilst his body quivered and everything else around him shattered and came crashing down, stealing the air right out of his lungs. He felt Ivan shudder and release inside of him with a harsh groan before falling away, over onto his back, breathing heavily.

"Ivan," Yong Soo began as he found his breath again, feeling the sweat cool quickly on his skin. He searched for Ivan's hand and laced their fingers together when he found it. The Russian squeezed his hand tightly and Yong Soo felt as though they really could have been two people madly in love with each other. Regardless of whether he would get the same in return, he opened his heart and held Ivan's hand tighter. "I love you. I always have, ever since that day at Kirov, even when I knew that you and Yao were attracted to one another, I couldn't stop."

Ivan propped himself up on his elbow, letting his arm fall behind Yong Soo's head, his other hand coming to rest against his chest, fingers just grazing the curve of his collarbone. He then leant down and captured the Korean's lips in a slow, sensual kiss. "I'll clean you up," he said softly against his lips as he fingered the raven-coloured tresses falling just over his temple.

As he waited for Ivan to return, he closed his eyes and his breathing slowed to the rhythm of the falling snow outside. He didn't feel Ivan climb back onto the bed beside him, nor did he feel him pull his body towards him in a tight embrace where he then buried his face into his neck and admitted, silently, that he thought he may have loved Yong Soo, too. He just didn't know if he could say it just yet, or if he ever would be able to.

And when Yong Soo woke up again, chilled down to the bone despite the many layers of blankets on top of him, Ivan was gone. Immediately he got out of bed, calling out to him whilst he found his clothes. No answer, only the distant whir of turbulence which Yong Soo couldn't identify. In the dark he made his way to the kitchen, his heart starting to pound with panic and his stomach twisting itself up with sick worry. All he found was a broken vodka bottle with blood smears on the floor beneath the glass.

Yong Soo knew he had to go, and he knew it would be the last time he would see their house on Grechesky Prospekt.

Outside on the street, people with gaunt faces were hurrying and bustling past, frantically shouting and whispering and crying. Some were talking about a bomb falling, but Yong Soo didn't care – he had to find the Pavlov Barracks.

He caught sight of himself in the glass of a shop window, and he barely recognised the person staring back. Not Yong Soo, not himself; instead a gaunt shadow just like the rest of them. And he was suddenly frightened. They wouldn't let him into the army looking like that – he would only serve as a weak, warm-up target, if that. But he wasn't about to give up. He had to see Ivan; he had to convince him not to go back out onto the battlefield.

He didn't want either of them to die alone.

Yong Soo picked up his pace, the snow making it hard to go very fast. He wanted to cry in frustration, but he didn't know if he had enough strength left in him to cry. No, he had to save his energy for the man he loved.

Every street, every building looked the same. The flickering lights were dimming and one by one starting to go out, and Yong Soo felt himself starting to fade in the cold, almost ready to dim and die out just like those lights.

A particularly harsh gust of wind blew past Yong Soo and it felt like it was blowing right through his body, freezing the expanse of his muscle tissue so he could barely move at all. He stumbled a little and suddenly his body was telling him that he would fall and he might not be able to get back up again. He wanted to scream and fight against it but found that he couldn't – his will was being eroded by the howling icy wind. But as he went to fall, two strong hands gripped his shoulders, stopping his fall.

"I was coming back, why did you follow me?"

Yong Soo lifted his weary head to meet Ivan's eyes, which were more violet and alive than ever. Was that anger in his voice, overbearing love and concern in his eye? Yong Soo couldn't be sure, and he wasn't given any more time to contemplate before he was pulled forcefully against the Russian's chest. "You can't go back, not without me."

"Idiot," he hissed, holding Yong Soo tighter. "You shouldn't have come outside. Didn't you hear about the bomb? It's too dangerous." Yong Soo didn't want to fight, so he didn't say anything. The air raid siren sounded and together they looked up to see a German plane flying over head. "Come, we need to find a shelter somewhere."

Ivan pointed out a shelter just ahead and took Yong Soo's hand to lead him there when suddenly there was a high pitched whistle-boom and the sound of smashing bricks and breaking glass and splintering wood. And then there was another bomb but all Yong Soo could comprehend was a sharp pain in his back that knocked the air right from his lungs. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out; he felt sick and his body went numb from the shock. His hands were shaking and all he could hear was a whirring, like a bee trapped inside something...

"Come, Yong Soo, walk," Ivan commanded but they stood still. Yong Soo smiled up at him, but it felt more like he was grimacing. He shook his head and fell against Ivan, his vision darkening and blurring around the edges. He felt his eyelids flicker to the rhythm of the dying street lights and as the last one blew out, his eyes closed and he couldn't feel the pain anymore.

* * *

_I want to go somewhere where it's warm one day, where it doesn't snow, where it gets so hot you can barely stand it. _

_How do you know a place like that exists?_

_I don't – I just hope for its existence.

* * *

_

Although it was Spring in Australia, the harsh white sun beat down, illuminating the capeweed that looked like a band on miniature sunflowers, open and beckoning the sun to warm their buttery yellow petals. September was still cold and windy, but not even September or even July, a month that was dark and cold without a midnight sun, could be as brutal as a Russian winter. The breeze was fresh and alive with the smell of eucalyptus and pollen; the magpies chortled harmoniously, and in the distance some kookaburras laughed.

Ivan had heard that, upon death, a kookaburra would laugh. Even though the sound was raucous and at times infectious, there was always a tinge of wickedness to it. It made perfect sense.

"There's a family of Apostle Birds that live in this tree – they're probably keeping watch over you while you rest."

The Russian knelt down to remove the old wilted flowers from the glass jar so he could replace them with the new sunflowers and corn poppies. He then kissed his fingers and ran his hand over the marbled headstone, murmuring the words to an old song that he used to hear on the radio many years ago.

"I think I remember that song," a voice said from behind him. Ivan looked over his shoulder and smiled a little sadly.

"Yes – it was such a lovely song but unfortunately the times weren't the best for it." He got to his feet and looked into inquisitive brown eyes, still as alive and as bright as they were twenty years ago. "You should have a jacket on, Yong Soo."

The Korean wrapped his arms around his waist and nuzzled against his chest. "I don't need one."

Ivan chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "That's what Katyusha said in a letter once. We had a conversation about a place like this, but unfortunately it does snow in some places.

"Sometimes I don't think we'll ever be able to escape the snow," Yong Soo said softly. "But we can always try."

* * *

**End notes:**

**I don't have a great deal to say other than FINALLY. If you're still breathing and aren't shell shocked by now, the internet is all yours. That is the longest oneshot I've ever written, and i was contemplating putting it into two chapters but then I thought that 9000 odd words was fine for digestion.  
**

**Just some quick historical notes for clarification (it may or may not help):**

**-When Ivan refers to "Comrade Moskovsky" he's not referring to a real leader. I didn't put Stalin because this was not intended to be set in the same USSR under his rule.**

**-Arthur made an appearance for three reasons. One, England and Russia were both part of the Allies in WWII. Two, having France or America there just didn't seem like it would fit. Three, I love Japan/England. I know it was a barely-there, blink-and-you'll-miss-it hint at the pairing but that's just the way it goes...  
**

**-The Kirov factory in Leningrad (Leningrad was, if I remember correctly, renamed Saint Petersburg in September 1991) I mentioned was a real factory – it did manufacture cutlery, amongst other things, and tanks for the Red Army. **

**-If China, Japan and S. Korea lived in Soviet Russia, they wouldn't have (well, most likely) lived in an actual house. Most lived in communal houses with one or two rooms available to each family. **

**-Germany did invade Russia but at a later stage during WWII, despite the Non Aggression Pact of 1938. **

**-Along with the rations, most people died due to the cold winters. I can't even imagine what cold is, but I bet an Australian winter pales considerably next to a Russian winter. **

**On that note, I'm sorry for the shameless plugging of Australia. It may have been America or something had I written this a few months ago, but its October and it's the perfect weather here right now – I couldn't help setting the last scene in my own country. Today, for example, was cool and comfortable and I should have probably stayed outside all day but I opted for a movie day with my one of my BFFs instead. Oh well. But here are some facts you can nibble on:**

**Capeweed pops up everywhere come mid-September, and really, they do look like miniature sunflowers except not as warm in colour or round in shape. If you live in America, for example, our weather would be backwards to yours – our Christmases are hot as hell and you'd be celebrating the Fourth of July out in the cold. You probably already knew that but I thought I'd put it in just in case. **

**Apostle Birds aren't native to Australia I don't think. They're quite big birds (in comparison to a lark or robin or something) with grey and brown feathers and they live in groups of about ten and they squawk and carry on like nothing else – they're actually like bickering siblings. The reason I decided to put them there instead of your cliché crow or raven was because in my town, there are a few families of Apostle Birds and Choughs (another loud family flock) that hang around near the cemetery. It just seemed to fit. **

**But whatever. **

**To The Nightstress: thank you for both reviewing and broadening my horizons. I do apologise for the Russia/China in there D: ironic that I kicked and screamed about the pairing before even starting. I hope you liked this. Thank you :D**

**_Until next time..._  
**


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